Something to be Proud Of

Chapter 10: Civil Service

Before the War, India was just beginning to shed the “License Rajs”, though massive, desperate government layoffs. Anger had reached such a state that the remaining overworked Civil Servants had to have body guards. The laws and regulations remained on the books, but had simply become unenforceable. England “solved” their problem in 2020, by passing a law wherein it was illegal to be rude or abusive to civil servants, regardless of provocation. England went bankrupt 2 years earlier.

Public Services Unions routinely struck for pay raises and to protect lavish pensions. They chose to do this, though, when the Governor of Michigan was having a particularly bad day. He calculated he could be one of the first Governors to balance his budget in 10 years, if payroll were suspended for 2 months. He let the strike go on for 3 months. He did not get re-elected.

The Errors of Our Ways- Dissenting Opinion, T. Olafssen, Ed. (2052)

A moderately well-dressed man had walked up to the bar, apparently on his way home from work. He uncomfortably waited for service, in spite of Max’s prompt attention. He ordered a draft, trying not to call attention to himself, but one got the feeling he would have preferred something else. He sipped at his beer, looking around, checking his watch. No one talked to him, or he to them. The face, form and demeanour of the councilman did not lend itself to recognition.

“Fuckin’ zombie.” Erasmus muttered.

“Shut your pie-hole, Erasmus! He’s a paying customer”, sniped Max.

Erasmus retreated, sulking for a while. Erasmus didn’t always pay his tab, but made up for it in entertainment. Some people’s currency was bullshit, and Erasmus was a master:

“Well, I just worry they will learn to breed and bore the rest of us to death.”

Max lightened up. “Erasmus: when I think of you breeding, it makes me wish my daughter grew up to be a lesbian.”

Sam mused over this. Max was right: the local economy rose and fell to the Zombie tune. People did not know how to act around them, given their conflicting feelings of envy and pity. Few would turn down a zombie job; many took them. This was lovingly referred to as “whoring”. But permanent zombies were uniformly despised - especially by the ex-zombies. Unable to cope with zombie life (often having been fired), the envy was pronounced. They all wished they could adapt to the new world. They felt like exiles, and that they paid (though their taxes) the zombies’ salaries was salt in the wounds.

Tom Carluccio’s thoughts drifted along similar lines. He was well aware of the Zombie label. He thought back to his days in Law school, when he and his friends had competed viscously for consulting jobs. He wanted it as well. The chance to leapfrog experience and work directly with the CEO at some huge corporation. He recalled landing his first interview at McKinsey, and the shock of a surprise ‘Stress Interview’. The Senior Principal, sitting across an ostentatiously large, cheery wood desk, blithely asked him what books he read. As Tom showed off his list of the Classics, including Homer and Das Kapital, the man pretended to look through his calendar and yawned. Then, the brain-teaser: “Tell me what the market for batteries is in the US?” What an inane question! Ask me about my achievements, GRE scores, grades, he had thought to himself. How about the question, “Where do I want to be five years from now?” Bungling, he stalled by discussing the major Brands: Duracell, Eveready, Energizer, etc. The man was getting impatient, “think about it. How many people are in the US?” 400 Million, Tom readily offered.

“Correct, then...” “Oh, I get it!” Being a poor graduate student, Carluccio quickly surveyed the batteries he owned... 2 for his flashlight, 1 for his watch, 1 for his phone, 1 for his remote control. 400 million times five.... “About 2 Billion”.

The man suppressed laughter with a snort, and Tom’s humiliation was complete. To this day, Tom got a knot in his stomach whenever he bought batteries for his children’s toys. The experience left a deep impression. He thought about how much he had learned in the intervening 25 years since that interview: “How arrogant I was! That I could be an advisor to Corporate America at age 29!” What was less forgivable was the arrogance of the Principal; to decide someone’s career over a puzzle question. He stewed into his beer. It’s all sizzle and no steak: gimmicks, management school jargon, ‘quick wins’, BS, cockiness. His distaste for these cowboy capitalists only deepened over his years as a regulator. He looked about the room: these guys are no different, just uneducated versions of the same species.

Tom pulled off his stool and floated out of the bar, like a ghost. The disdain was mutual.

Mel was still on topic. “Work is Force applied over a distance. If you push against a wall, you have not accomplished any work.”

“You’re a geek and a snob. They get paid, and they spend money. That keeps us all in business. It’s called Keynesian economics. Prime the pump and all that.” Erasmus retorted.

“... Digging ditches and filling them back in again?”

“It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you’re paid.”

“That’s what we call radical Keynesianism,” Mel offered. The crowd stared like a colony of meerkats, except for Alberto, oddly.

“Well, what pisses me off is they think they are working, and I’m paying their salary,” Sam gargled.

Everyone seemed to agree with that. Mel wanted to defend himself, working for the University, but thought better of it.

“Bank in the good old days of Communism, they all had jobs…” someone muttered.

“Don’t talk to me about Communism,” Alberto blurted, “I was in a fraternity!”

“Eh... I’m not sure I’m following you...” Buck suspected Alberto secretly harboured a college education, but had never seen these two concepts linked.

“The only way to get someone to do their house chores was to threaten to shit in their bed… Absent profit motive, there is only the threat of force. Money civilizes behaviour.”

“I’m not sure you can generalize from a bunch of spoiled brats.”

“From what I can tell, people don’t grow up. They are all a bunch of spoiled brats.”

Earl’s pulled his face out of his beer. Animated, he asserted, “What the world really needs is another War!”

“There are dozens to choose from... why don’t we just take sides? India/Pakistan, for instance?”

“Too far away and too expensive. We’d likely choose the wrong side, anyway.”

“I’m rooting for a draw on that one... like Iran and Iraq, if you ask me,” Erasmus editorialized.

“No, I’m talkin’ about a Big One, you know, like WW II... a worthy adversary!”

“Canadians and Mexicans are useless for scrimmaging. Last time we invaded Mexico, they threw a parade when we took Mexico City.”

“Santa Anna was a right bastard,” muttered Alberto.

“Well, what we need, then, is a good old-fashioned Alien Invasion”

“Well, one can dream...”